Like We Were Yesterday
by WinterStorrm
Summary: Mike and Harvey are getting closer. There's only one thing—one someone—who can ruin that. Enter Trevor.


**Title:** Like We Were Yesterday  
**Pairing: **Harvey/Mike  
**Rating**: PG-14  
**Word Count**: 5,900  
**Warnings**: Non con drug use.  
**Disclaimer:** The characters depicted herein belong to USA Network. I make no profit from this endeavour.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for suits_exchange round 2.  
Beta read by singlemomsummer, edited since, mistakes all mine.  
**Summary:** Mike and Harvey are getting closer. There's only one thing—one _someone_—who can ruin that. Enter Trevor.

Mike knows it's a mistake to let Trevor stay, especially when he'd promised himself after his last appearance in his life that that enough was enough. Trevor's always been able to get Mike to agree to things against his better judgement, and this time is no exception. "Just a couple of days—and you don't get to stay here when I'm out," Mike tells him, shoving him out of his apartment and leaving Jenny hiding in the bathroom, feeling guilty at leaving her there but knowing that it's better than the inevitable confrontation if Trevor finds out Mike's back in touch with her.

Trevor's always been possessive, even when they were kids, and Mike doubts that anything has changed over the last few months. The way Trevor's hand rests in the small of his back as they descend the stairs is testament to that the truth in that assumption. Mike shakes himself free, side-stepping away from Trevor. "You don't get to do that anymore," he says, shooting Trevor a sideways glance when they reach the ground floor. "I said you could stay, but that doesn't mean that you and I—"

Mike's words are cut short when Trevor laughs. The sound is like nails on a blackboard to Mike now—once upon a time, he used to love to make him laugh, and now he can't stand to hear it. "You don't mean that," he drawls, and he moves quickly, caging Mike in against the cold brick of the wall. "God, Mike, I've missed you."

Mike closes his eyes, pretends for a moment that he's okay with this, even though every fibre if his being is recoiling—and that's when his cell rings—and the _Top Gun_ theme tune tells him it's Harvey. Something about that bolsters him, and he pushes Trevor, palms flat in the middle of his chest. "Get the fuck off me," he says in a low voice, and reaches into his suit pocket for his cell. "Harvey?" He feels himself relax at the sound of Harvey's voice, almost forgetting for a moment that Trevor is even there. Something about Harvey's voice—even when he's mad—always manages to calm him. He tries not to think about it too much because he and Harvey are never going to be anything more than Partner and Associate, no matter how often Mike fantasises about it.

He fantasises about it a _lot._

"Where the hell are you?" Harvey barks. "It's after eight. I need you here."

"I've run into a complication—I'll be there as soon as I can." He ends the call hastily and flicks a glance at Trevor, who is leaning back against the wall, arms folded in front of him, regarding Mike through narrowed eyes.

"I'm a complication, am I?"

"Geez, Trevor—you turn up out of the blue and expect to pick up where we used to be _before_—I call that a complication."

"Sure you do," Trevor answers, his eyes scanning Mike's face before raising an eyebrow. It's a challenge, and Mike resists it where he would once have jumped right in.

Mike looks pointedly at his watch. "I'll call you later," he tells Trevor over his shoulder as he almost runs out of the building entrance. "I might have to work late." Right now he just wants to be as far away from Trevor as possible, and the sooner the better.

"Counting on it, Mikey," Trevor calls after him and follows it up by saying something else under his breath, something Mike doesn't catch and doesn't bother to dwell on. Harvey's waiting for him and Mike's still half an hour—at least—away from the office.

:::x:::

Harvey greets him with 'the look' when Mike eventually makes it into Pearson Hardman. It's the look that manages to convey both disappointment and hurt at Mike's apparent betrayal of Harvey's investment in him.

"Sorry," Mike says even though he knows Harvey doesn't want to hear his excuses. He knows that if he'd said 'Trevor' then Harvey's lips would tighten and it wouldn't be disappointment, it would be betrayal. Harvey's told him more than once to cut Trevor loose. Harvey expects Mike to do as he asks—and Mike's hoped it would never come to this, hoped Trevor might never return so he can avoid it—because even though he's only known Harvey for months and Trevor his whole life…Harvey's the one that matters to him more.

"In case you were going to make an excuse, I'm not interested," Harvey says, dropping his gaze back to the file on the desk in front of him. "I need you to go through the Danner files again—there has to be something we've missed."

Harvey orders in take-out at lunch time—or rather Donna does—and the only time Mike gets to leave the room is to go to the bathroom. He doesn't find anything and covers his disappointment with a joke about 'doing another Mississippi Burning', and after that Harvey disappears for a couple of hours, coming back with an expression of grim determination. "Go home," he tells Mike. "I need you back here early in the morning and you look like you're about to pass out."

Mike looks at his watch and realises it's almost nine. He rubs his eyes and gets to his feet, hyper-aware that Harvey's watching him through shrewd eyes. Mike forces a smile, his mind on Trevor and what the fuck to do about him.

"_Is_ there something wrong?" Harvey asks, taking a step closer and placing a hand on Mike's shoulder. "You've done well today, Mike, but I expect your mind to be on the job at all times—and it's clear that your mind is elsewhere."

"I'm just tired," Mike lies and hopes he's not being too blatant about it—Harvey reads people for a living after all.

"As long as that's all it is," Harvey replies and, suddenly, Mike can't breathe. Harvey is so _close_ and he's touching him—Mike can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes as their eyes lock together. His stomach twists with pure unadulterated need. God, he's been trying to fight this, since day one, really. He'd be lying if he said that Harvey hadn't mesmerised him from the start. Why else would he have told him everything the way he had? He could have picked up the weed from the floor and fled—but there's always been something about Harvey that makes Mike _want_.

Harvey makes him feel safe.

Mike swallows. "That's all it is." Another lie. Well, the same lie really, it just reinforces the first one. His gaze drops to Harvey's lips. God—he wants him so much, the touch of Harvey's lips on his, Harvey's hand in his hair—Harveyharveyharvey.

Their eyes meet again and Harvey shifts closer, tilting his head—and for a moment Mike thinks, _fuck, this is it, he's going to kiss me_—but in a bitter parody of the scene in the stairwell that morning with Trevor, his phone rings. Trevor's ringtone is still _Mr Brightside_ by The Killers, a song that Mike can't listen to without cringing these days. He steps back, Harvey's hand falling from his shoulder as he moves.

"I have to go," he says, holding Harvey's gaze for a long moment before backing away, running out of Harvey's office and taking out his phone. "Yes?"

"Don't tell me that _Harvey's_ still got you working at this time?" Trevor says without a 'hello'.

"I'm just leaving now," Mike says. "Where are you?"

:::x:::

Harvey watches as Mike retreats, the back of his cheap suit jacket flapping behind him as he heads away from him, answering his cell as he goes. He hears him ask the caller 'where are you?' and, as expected, his gut twists with something ugly and possessive. It's all he can do not to go after him.

"Fuck," he says to the empty office, and moves to stare unseeingly out of the window at the glittering city laid out below. He's lost and he doesn't know what to do—and Harvey _always_ knows what to do. This is alien territory for him. Even Scottie—who, in a fucked up way, is by far the longest relationship he's ever had—never had this effect on him. This desire to possess, protect and fuck is new to him. It's something he doesn't understand. It's not how he works. He doesn't get involved. He doesn't _care_. "I need a drink."

:::x:::

Mike doesn't show up for work the next day, and he's not answering Harvey's calls. "If anyone asks where Mike is," he tells Donna at lunchtime, "tell them he's out doing some research for me." This isn't like Mike—yes, he's late sometimes, always in a rush—but he's never done this before.

Ray's eyebrows disappear into his hair when Harvey gives him Mike's address, but he doesn't say anything, merely pulls out into the traffic and makes small talk about music—Harvey's not really listening and Ray probably knows that, but this is what they do, and normally Harvey appreciates the chatter. Today though, he could do without it.

He barely notices the run-down state of Mike's building as he takes the stairs two-by-two and hammers on his door. "Mike!" He hammers again. "Mike, are you in there?"

His fist is raised to go again when the door flies open to reveal Trevor. "Harvey—what a pleasant surprise," Trevor drawls, giving Harvey the once-over and meeting his eyes with a smirk. "Mike's still in bed—we had a bit of a late one last night, you know how it is, two lovers reunited and all that." He holds the door so that Harvey can't see inside Mike's apartment past Trevor's head. Harvey's fists are clenched, his nails digging into his palms—he wants to knock that smirk off Trevor's smug face.

"Tell Mike I want to see him," Harvey grinds out between clenched teeth, glancing around the cramped apartment. "_Now_."

"I'd rather not wake him, if you don't mind. Like I said, we had a late night and Mike deserves a rest—you work him like a dog."

Harvey sees red mist and he's shouldering the door and pushing his way inside before he's considered any consequences. He wants to wrap his hands around Trevor's neck and choke the life out of him. The thought of Mike and Trevor…_reunited_—the bile rises to the back of his throat as the anger and the jealousy take over. He hasn't felt this wild in years, since his teens, when everything had gone wrong and his life was spiralling out of his control—how else does a guy with a mind like his end up working in the mail room?—and he doesn't want this feeling, but he doesn't know how to stop it.

The door crashes back and hits the wall, and Trevor's self-preservation has kicked in—the self-absorbed asshole that he is—and he's stepped to one side and out of Harvey's path. Mike's apartment is smaller than Harvey's bathroom in his condo, if you could even call this an apartment, because Harvey's across it in two steps where Mike's bed is in the corner—the whole place is _one_ room, save for the bathroom, and Harvey's shocked even though he knows he shouldn't be. He knows all of Mike's money goes on his grandmother's care.

Mike's still sleeping, despite the commotion Harvey's caused, his shorts-clad body twisted up in the comforter—as he lies on his back now, but he's clearly been moving around to get so caught up. He's pale, his lashes long against the sallowness of his cheeks, his dirty blond hair a sweaty mess. Harvey's heart twists. Mike's been sharing this bed with Trevor and it should have been—no, no he's not going there, he can't go there—_reunited_—God, he'd known there was more to Mike and Trevor's relationship than just friends but he'd thought it was in the past.

"Mike?" He leans over his sleeping form, trying to channel his anger, because Mike's skipped work to stay in bed after a night spent fucking someone who isn't him, and now is not the time to mourn the loss of that something he never had—he needs to be Harvey Specter, super bad-ass attorney and best closer in the business, the man who doesn't _care_, not some mooning sad case who's found out that he man he's in love with isn't feeling the same way about him as he was starting to believe he might—fuck it, fuck it all. "Mike!" he grits out, trying not to shout, one hand on his shoulder as he shakes. Mike doesn't respond and Harvey's anger fades and genuine concern takes its place.

He turns to Trevor, who's standing a foot or so behind him, emanating satisfied glee, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watches Harvey trying to rouse Mike.

"What the hell has he taken?" It's not normal that Mike would sleep through the noise and the attempts to rouse him. "What did you _give_ him?" He turns back to Mike and lifts his wrist to check his pulse. It's only now he notices that Mike's breathing slowly and his pulse matches that—this is not good, not good _at all_. He pushes his other hand into his pocket and draws out his cell and dials 911, and when the call is answered, he requests an immediate ambulance for a suspected drug overdose.

"What's wrong with him?" Trevor asks, the smug satisfaction gone now, replaced by nervous concern.

"You tell me—what has he taken?"

"He—I—" The remaining colour drains out of Trevor's face. "I just needed him to be asleep, I knew you would come to find him—he cares more about you now than he does about me—I wanted you to find us together. You've taken him away from me!" He runs a shaking hand through his hair.

"You drugged him?" Harvey feels sick. He turns back to Mike and holds a hand on his forehead. "He's burning up. The paramedics will want to know what he's taken, so—"

Trevor puts his hand in his pocket and brings out a handful of blue pills. Harvey has no idea what they are and Trevor says, "I gave him five, in his coffee," before backing towards to the door. "I'm sorry, but I have to go—" and he's out of the door and Harvey hears the sound of running as he makes his escape. He's tempted to go after him—he's just drugged someone and the police need to be informed, Trevor needs to pay—but he doesn't. His first concern is Mike. Mike, whose shallow breathing seems so loud that every breath is like a hammer blow to Harvey's heart.

"Come on, Mike," he says, taking his limp hand between both of his. "You're going to be fine. I'm here, and I won't let anything else happen to you."

:::x:::

Mike _is_ fine, so Harvey hasn't made himself into a liar. Apparently Mike had got up to go to work that morning and Trevor had made his coffee and he'd thought it tasted a little odd but he hadn't wanted to be late—but that was the last thing he remembered until he'd woken up in the hospital.

Harvey's there when he wakes. He's been there all afternoon, waited whilst his stomach was pumped, sat by his side, tense and miserable until Mike had woken up. The drugs hadn't been enough to kill him, according to the doctor, but Mike had had an allergic reaction to them and that _could_ have killed him if Harvey hadn't shown up when he had. Thank fuck Trevor had been right about that at least—that Harvey would come for Mike.

"I've reported Trevor to the police," he tells Mike once the 'where am I?' questions have been covered. "And you're going to give a statement too when you're up to it." It's not a request and Mike nods. He's still pale, but he's alive, and that's what matters. "Now, you need to call your grandmother, as I promised her that as soon as you were able, she'd get to hear your voice. I called her the moment I knew you'd be okay."

Mike closes his eyes and nods again.

"Right then," Harvey says, standing up, resisting the urge to brush Mike's hair out of his eyes and a follow up with kiss on the forehead. "I expect Rachel and Donna will be by later—and your friend Jenny is on her way. I—have a date tonight so I need to- Take as long as you need off work and don't worry; I've covered the hospital bill."

He's fighting with himself. He wants to stay. He has to leave. If he stays much longer, he's going to explode. He'll end up punching the wall or losing his temper so spectacularly that he'll never live it down.

"You're leaving?" Mike croaks; his throat sore from having his stomach pumped earlier. He seems to be on some kind of time delay as his eyes fly open. "You have a date?"

"I do have a private life, you know," Harvey defends, shrugging on his suit jacket and gripping the door so tightly his knuckles turn white. He pauses, says, "I'm glad you're okay," nods at Mike, and slides through the door. He tries not to think of the look on Mike's face as he leaves—he looks devastated.

Harvey really does have a date that night. The worry is that he knows her name is Mandy but, for the life of him, he can't picture her face. That's not going to stop him; he needs to get Mike out of his head, he needs a drink…and he needs to forget.

:::x:::

Mike goes back to work on Monday after spending the weekend with both his grandmother and Jenny. Jenny's furious at what Trevor did and watching her, all fiery anger and flashing eyes—she's glorious—Mike wishes he felt more for her than friendship. A couple of kisses is all it's ever been—by the time they'd reconnected, Mike's heart had been given to someone else—a few kisses and nights on each other's couches was all it was. Good friends, like they always had been; two thirds of a defunct trio.

There's no sign of Trevor.

Worse—Mike hasn't heard from Harvey since he left him in the hospital the other night. As Harvey had said he would, he had visits from both Donna and Rachel. Donna was full of reproach, shaking her head at him with disappointed wide eyes and refusing to tell him what he's supposed to have done. "You'll work it out," she'd told him before kissing his cheek and leaving, Mike staring after her, his head swimming in confusion. Rachel was different—talking about work, complaining about Louis, talking about when she passes her LSATs and gets into Harvard at last. Mike had nodded in the right places, but all he'd been able to think of was Harvey and whatever woman he had taken out that night. He knew Harvey was a player, but something had happened between the two of them, so Mike had thought, and that changed everything, for him anyway, for Harvey—apparently not.

He doesn't stop by Harvey's office first, heading straight for the bull pen instead and logging onto his computer. He doesn't want to see Harvey until he absolutely has to. No one bats an eye at his return, like he hasn't even been gone, but he supposes that his visit to the hospital has been kept contained to his inner circle—basically Rachel—and that no one else even gives a shit about his whereabouts.

He's been there half an hour when Louis appears, smug, gloating smile wider than ever. "Ross," he says, "you're mine this week. Follow me."

Mike doesn't fight back; where normally he'd be protesting that he has some work for Harvey, this time he doesn't, and now it looks as though Harvey has handed him over to Louis without even speaking to him first to see how he's feeling. If Mike had been wondering where he stood with Harvey, this is the perfect way to tell him that he stands somewhere at the very bottom of the ladder.

He spends the day proofing the Anderson briefs in the library. It's almost therapeutic, and he finds several anomalies that will help with the case—this is why Louis likes using him, he may not like him but he knows that he's the only one who can pick these things up so quickly.

It's after seven when Harvey finally appears, his hands in his pockets as he stares down at Mike's bent head. Mike makes a point of finishing the page he's proofing before he acknowledges Harvey's presence and even then he doesn't speak, merely locking eyes with him and waiting.

"How are you?" Harvey asks eventually, breaking the silence after a long drawn out couple of minutes.

"Alive," Mike replies dryly. There's no one around to overhear. "Thanks for that, by the way." Despite his mixed feelings towards Harvey at the moment, Mike can't deny that he's grateful for Harvey's barging in the other day.

Harvey nods and Mike watches him swallow before he looks away, down at the briefs Mike's been working on all day. "Louis found you plenty to do then?"

"Doesn't he always?"

"Right, well, that's good." He looks at his watch. "Well, I've got somewhere to be."

"I hear you won the Danner case?" Mike blurts as Harvey turns to go. "How'd you swing it?" Louis had dropped it into conversation earlier, perhaps assuming Mike would already know, or, knowing Louis, knowing he didn't and wanting to rub it in.

"Mississippi Burning," Harvey tells him and continues his path to the door, his hands back in his pockets and a firm set to his shoulders that tells Mike the conversation is over. At least with that confession, _Mississippi Burning_, Mike knows that Harvey got the idea from him, that he listens to _him_.

Suddenly the walls are closing in on him and he wants nothing more than to be away from here, preferably burrowed deep beneath his comforter with several hours of sleep ahead of him. If he's asleep he can't _think_, and if he can't think, then this endless loop of Harveyharveyharvey might have a chance to reset and give his brain a rest.

:::x:::

Mike spends the week at Louis' bidding, and in a way it's a welcome distraction. Harvey doesn't show his face all week and Mike doesn't go looking for him. It should be out of sight, out of mind but of course it's not, Mike just gets better at shoving it to the back of his head and getting on with the task at hand and pretending like he's not getting angrier and angrier as the week progresses.

Friday changes everything. It's the day Trevor gets arrested and it's also when Mike realises the real reason Harvey's been keeping him out of the way. There's no one else like Harvey when he's got the scent of someone, and Trevor's scent was fresh and Mike doesn't know how he did it, but he's hunted him down—finding him hiding away at an old mutual friend's apartment in Brooklyn, a friend Mike long since stopped bothering with because he was further into the drug scene than Trevor had been.

Harvey comes to get him from the library. "Trevor's in custody and the police want that statement from you," he says. "They can't charge Trevor without it." His tone brooks no argument, but the look on Harvey's face shows he's expecting one. Mike just gets to his feet and starts stacking the briefs he's been working on. Harvey waits by the door, waits when Mike stops at Louis' office and points out his findings, and before Mike knows it, he's in the back of Harvey's limo, Ray prattling away in the front, as the two of them sit in the back in silence.

Mike hates this. They've never been like this—Mike's never been afraid to tell Harvey what he thinks, but since the other day there's a barrier there, firmly erected by Harvey, and Mike doesn't know how to begin dismantling it.

"How did you find him?" Mike asks eventually as they sit in the crawling traffic on 5th. "And don't tell me this wasn't you, because I know better."

"I know people," Harvey replies, and Mike wonders how many palms he greased to get to Trevor. Harvey's staring out the window and he hasn't as much as glanced at Mike since they got in the car.

Mike grits his teeth and turns to stare out of his own window and that's how he stays until they reach the precinct. He gives his statement exactly as he remembers things happening—one minute he'd been wide awake and ready for another day at work, the next he'd been fuzzy and drowsy and then nothing until he woke up in the hospital with Harvey at his side.

It's only as he's done, ready to leave the room and re-join Harvey who is waiting for him outside when he thinks to ask, "Can I see him? Trevor, I mean."

The policeman, a tired-looking thirty-something with a kind face, nods and says, "Five minutes," and then he's being led into another room and told to wait. It's a good ten minutes before Trevor is led in, hands cuffed in front of him, his eyes red rimmed from tears or lack of sleep—or worse.

Trevor glares at Mike across the scuffed table and Mike looks him up and down sadly. He's a sorry sight, a broken man, one might say, and he's a bare shadow of the friend Mike grew up with. "Why'd you do it?" Mike asks after a long drawn-out minute. "What did I ever do to you?"

"I didn't do anything," Trevor lies, his expression saying to Mike, 'so there, suck on that' and he sits back, forgetting he's shackled and makes an attempt to fold his arms before remembering and saying, "Fuck it."

"I know you're lying, Trevor—this is me remember? I can see right through you."

Trevor licks his lips and laughs, short and bitter. "It used to be _me_. You used to love _me_," he says, jigging his right leg. "Do you love _him_?"

Mike feels a wave of nostalgia. Of high school, him, Trevor and Jenny against the world, him and Trevor making out under the bleachers, of being stupidly in love with his best friend, of feeling like it would last forever. Only it hadn't. It had been over really for a long time—Trevor falling further and further into dealing, not listening to Mike when he'd tried to talk him into the real world—of being taken for granted and wondering where the magic went. When Mike had said yes to the deal, the one that led him to Harvey, he'd already known that he and Trevor were over and had been for longer than he'd care to admit—and had been operating under force of habit, and the fact that they'd been friends long before they'd been anything else. He hadn't been in love with Trevor for years, and the absence of him from his life hadn't been as vast as he'd thought it would be all those times he'd thought about making the break. Almost getting busted by the cops and meeting Harvey had been what he'd needed. He'd filled his life with his new job and he hadn't had time to miss Trevor.

"So you nearly killed me because you were jealous…of my _boss_?" Mike accuses, watching Trevor flush and knowing he'd hit the mark. "The same boss who saved your sorry ass not too long ago, when he didn't have to—"

"He only did that because of you!" Trevor spits, his face morphing into an ugly sneer. "It's not like _Harvey_ gives a fuck about me is it? You're the one he looks at like you're made of gold."

Mike knows very well why Harvey helped Trevor that time, and of course it was for his sake and not Trevor's. Harvey's made no secret of what he thinks of Trevor right from the start.

"Of course it was for me, you ungrateful asshole!" Mike pushes his chair back and stands. "There's nothing going on between Harvey and me—we're not in love, he doesn't look at me like anything, I'm just his employee—and this conversation is _over_. And so are we, for good this time."

He ignores the way Trevor's face crumples and stalks from the room.

Harvey's waiting just down the corridor, leaning back against the red brick, looking to the entire world like he's just casually passing time. Mike, however, sees the tension in his stance and approaches slowly.

Harvey turns towards him and says, "Are you done?" Mike nods and Harvey just walks away, out of the precinct, to the waiting car outside. Mike clambers in behind him and holds his breath, waiting for Harvey to say something.

Harvey says, "Ray, drive until I say stop," and presses the button that brings up the screen between them and Ray, and locks it down, meaning Ray can't open it from his side.

"I told you to cut him loose," Harvey begins, his voice like steel. "You led me to believe that you had—and then I find that you've let him back into your life and into your bed—close enough to hurt you again—"

"What? I never—" Harvey holds a hand up and Mike stalls, the words dying in his throat.

"And now you're _asking to see him_? I thought you were intelligent, Mike, but I'm starting to question that." There's quiet anger emanating from Harvey's every pore and he's avoiding Mike's gaze.

"I wanted to ask him why he did it," Mike says, boring his eyes into Harvey until Harvey has no choice other than to meet his eyes. "He always was jealous and possessive, I just didn't realise it could manifest like that until now—and I told him that I was through with him for good this time."

"Until the next time."

"There won't be a next time, Harvey. I meant what I said, I'm done with him, have been for a long time—but that doesn't mean I stopped caring completely, he's been part of my life since before I remember."

"Do you always sleep with people you're 'done with'?"

And there it is. Mike doesn't dare to hope… "Oh my God," he finds himself blurting. "You're jealous. You _care_." He watches as a rare blush suffuses Harvey's face and has to contain himself from bouncing with glee. Harvey Specter cares about him—he's fucking _jealous_.

:::x:::

It's not often that Harvey's lost for words, but now would be a prime example of such an occasion. He's stumped and all because Mike is right. He's so fucking jealous he wants to hit something. Harvey had nearly kissed Mike the other night. He had never wanted anyone more and that's not easy to come to terms with, the vulnerability of that, when your name is Harvey Specter.

He's spent most of the last week using every contact he has to find Trevor and he can't deny that part of that was to make sure he never came near Mike again, and not just because of what he did. He doesn't want Mike to forgive him—he doesn't want Mike to _think_ about him ever again.

If Trevor is jealous and possessive, Harvey's a hundred times worse.

"You know," Mike continues into the gaping silence left by Harvey's lack of response. "I didn't let Trevor back into my bed. He tried but I said no, made him sleep on the couch."

Some of the lead weight pressing down on Harvey's shoulders lifts. "He said—" is all he manages before he realises he's been had and curses himself for not seeing through it. He's been blinded by the mist of his jealousy obviously. Fuck.

"And you believed him?" Mike snorts. "You fell right into his trap. He wanted you to think that because he thinks there's something…going on between us." Mikes words seem to dry in his throat and he coughs, swallows thickly, and drags his eyes away from Harvey's and focusses on the traffic outside of the window.

Harvey reaches out, on autopilot almost, and closes his fingers around Mike's wrist. Mike's head jerks back around and he gasps. "Harvey, what—?"

Harvey pulls his wrist and Mike lets himself be urged closer. His eyes are wide as Harvey leans in and kisses him as he wishes he had done the other day, as he's been fantasising about for months—well, the fantasy starts with a kiss anyway, but obviously it doesn't end there. He starts small, pressing his lips to Mike's, testing the response really, and when Mike doesn't pull away he deepens the kiss, feeling Mike open for him as his hands slide around Harvey's neck and find the few downy hairs that he hasn't imprisoned in hair gel. His heart jumps into his throat and he pulls back, searching Mike's face and groaning at his dilated pupils and his mussed hair and the way he's dragging in his breath.

"How long?" he asks, suddenly desperate for an answer. He needs to know this hasn't been all one-sided all this time. That he's not been alone in this madness.

Mike licks his lips. "Probably since the start, but I didn't realise until that thing with Louis and Tom Keller and you looked at me like I'd killed your kitten—so yeah, the start I guess."

Harvey leans forward and opens the divider. "My condo please, Ray, as quick as you can." Ray nods and Harvey closes the divider again.

He settles back against the leather of the seat, Mike half curled into him, and takes his hand.

"Harvey, I—" Mike starts. "If this is a one-time thing I—"

"Mike, I never date co-workers, sleep with co-workers—hell, I barely ever _socialise_ with co-workers—if we're doing this, you can be certain it won't be a one-time thing." He runs his thumb over Mike's inner wrist. "You can rest assured that you were right about me. I _care_. A lot. About you."

Mike seems stunned for a moment before he breaks into a beaming grin and sings, "You think I'm gorgeous... You want to kiss me... You want to—"

Harvey laughs and claps his hand over Mike's mouth. "Miss Congeniality, _really?_" He shakes his head. "I thought you were better than that."

Mike wrenches Harvey's hand away. "Nope, I pretty certain I'm not." Then he leans back in and kisses Harvey again and Harvey stops caring about the calibre of movie Mike's just quoted him because he's right: he does think he's gorgeous and he does want to kiss him and—fuck it—he wants it all.

Starting right now.


End file.
